Toasted
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: A drunken night. An accidental Toasting. Did it mean anything at all?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

My hands are convulsing so much that the cracked tube of lipstick falls from my grasp and clatters against the faded mirror as I try to apply it to my face. I freeze for a moment, terrified that I have awoken Prim or Mother, before getting my fingers under control enough to apply the rouge to my lips.

I continue with eye shadow, a little easier in application, before riding the garter from Mother's wedding high up my thigh. Seizing a flask from the kitchen table, I take a long slug of alcohol (which I stole from Mother's liquor cabinet she needs for her healing business) before securing the flask into a holster of the garter. Both I now cover with the blue Reaping dress that is a hand-me-down from my mother's upbringing as a Merchant. Checking myself over one last time, I take a deep breath as I ready myself to do what must be done tonight.

First the rivers and the fish dried up. Then the forest fires drove away all the deer and other game and destroyed any sustenance that might come from the plants. And this brutal summer will still have its grip on District 12 for several months yet. With nothing to trade and no food to eat, we have been relying on Mother's Healing business and the edible barterings from her patients just to get by. Money for us has been scarce.

Eventually driving me to this point. The sacrifice of my pride.

It's amazing I have avoided it for as long as I have. Other girls have been driven to Cray's door, and the prostitution ring he runs out of his home in the Peacekeeper Barracks, faster than I. And the idea of sex or anything remotely related to romance has always repulsed me. Only Prim's hungry, pleading eyes could compel me to go against my deepest principle: to never marry, nor have children of my own.

It is mid-summer, the hot air stifling everything around me until I am choking on it as I head out into the night. The Reaping for the Hunger Games a few weeks hence will only make things worse.

The Barracks are quite a trek from where I live in the Seam, so the streetlights are lit on deserted pathways and only crickets chirp by the time I see Cray's house towering over the rest of the Barracks in the distance.

I enter the compound, only to be stopped yards from Cray's door, when a beam of light shines down on me.

I freeze, like the wild animals I hunt, frantically working through my options for self-preservation. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to witness me selling myself. Anyone I know, anyway. And now someone has.

Darius Freeman is a 20-year-old Peacekeeper cadet, with flaming red hair down to his shoulders. Unlike his compatriots, he is friendly and trades handsomely for my kills. He's also a bit of a flirt, as he's offered to give me a kiss as payment on more than one occasion. I've never taken him up on it.

"Katniss?" He blinks and smiles, as if he is surprised to see me. "What are you doing out here?"

So he doesn't know. Maybe I could lie or run before he has a chance to figure it out, even as he looks up and down my dress appreciatively. Then he takes in the boots much to big for my feet. And that I have makeup on. I never wear makeup, even if there is little my family could afford. His eyes widen, and I want to cry. He knows.

"Katniss, no," he breathes.

I turn to run before I even really know where I am going. Should I bolt for home and have deniability in the morning, and hope Darius will maintain his silence? Or do I make the final mad sprint for Cray's door, elbow the line of other girls there aside and throw myself at the Head Peacekeeper? Because I am indecisive, Darius has time to grab my arm.

"Let me go!" I choke out, beg, through my tears.

"No, please, no..." And I am startled to hear pain in Darius's voice as he drags me into the dark shadows beside his home in the Barracks. Pulled along and still fighting him, my feet in these damn boots slip in the dirt and I grab onto human flesh to keep from falling.

The human turns out to be Darius, who now has me by the waist, even as my arms are draped clumsily about his neck to keep myself upright. Panting, my grey eyes stare into his deep blue ones. I regard him almost stupidly, slack-jawed even, as I feel my heart oddly start to race.

I feel warmth flood my cheek as I sense Darius's paw of a hand cradling my face there. An odd music, an unfamiliar haunting tune, dances in my ears as I suddenly find myself compelled to draw closer, as my hands come to rest on the white undershirt of his uniform, torn at the sleeves. A light summer's rain has begun to pelt down around us, but it does nothing to stop us now... before... we... kiss...

Our lips have not yet become one, and I faintly notice Darius's free hand fondling the single braid running down my back, when a sharp BANG breaks the spell we are in. Still in our compromising position, Darius and I peer around the corner and out of the darkness to see Cray's hulking form cast a shadow on the line of girls, by the light of the street lamp. He picks a pretty little thing with blonde hair before disappearing with her and a door closing of damning finality.

It only dawns on me right then that I just lost my chance, and I am in the arms of another man, so I push Darius away and turn to leave in a huff before he catches my hand.

"Please," he implores. "Come inside."

Scowling at him, I reluctantly follow. Darius's home is really just a room. A bed in one corner with the kitchen and fireplace opposite. Table and chairs in the middle. I take a seat in one as Darius stokes up the fire. Freeing the flask from the garter high up my thigh, I take a long swig. The lightheaded feeling is almost immediate. I see Darius watching me with sad sympathy, but he passes no judgement. Doesn't matter. His pity is judgement enough.

Neither of us speaks as I sit there for many hours, taking shot after shot from the flask. Even as the alcohol should loosen my tongue, I remain taciturn, drinking my sorrows and the shame of what I almost did away. Darius does not pry; he doesn't need to. Any inquiries he may have he can work out for himself.

It's been many hours (at least I think it has been) when Darius suggests, "You can't drink your meals, you know."

On the contrary, I've seen Haymitch Abernathy - one of District 12's two Victors of the Hunger Games - do it all the time, but I don't retort as Darius crosses to the pantry, then the fire. My eyes are swimming just as much as my head as I watch him toast a bit of bread over the flames. Now, where have I seen this before? I surely have, but I can't remember when nor for what purpose...

Darius sits across from me, and sharing the bread, we eat it in silence. The bread tastes good, but I feel like something is missing... a step I have forgotten...

Darius is just rising from his chair, perhaps to bid me goodnight, when I remember. I pull him deliberately into my lap and kiss him on the lips, long and slow and proper.

And drunken. A drunken kiss. But even if I was sober, my kissing skills would be awful. In fact, I vaguely remind myself that this is my first kiss, as Darius embraces me, his mouth opens to mine and our tongues battle for dominance. I taste errant bread crumbs there.

After several minutes, I break the kiss, rising from my chair so that I unceremoniously dump Darius off my lap and onto the floor.

"Good night," I slur. And I stagger out his door and along the deathly silent streets for home.

I fall into my own bed, asleep before my head even hits the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I wake the next morning with a raging hangover. As I rise in a very un-ladylike fashion from my bed, my hair a mess, my mind wheels back over the events of the previous evening.

Darius intercepted me... I got drunk in his house... he gave me toast... and then... we kissed...

I gasp and place a hand to my mouth, the mouth that Darius kissed the night before. Sweet Panem, I _kissed_ him! And after sharing toast?! Oh God...

Without even realizing it, Darius and I accidentally conducted a drunken Toasting, the marriage ritual in District 12, or at least in the Seam.

My first thought is shame at myself. Stupid! What a stupid thing for me to do! Drunk though I was, shouldn't I have had the presence of mind to realize that the events I shared last night with the handsome Peacekeeper carried greater weight? My second thought is one of anger. Darius didn't exactly do anything to stop it. Perhaps he tricked me, the sneaky bastard!

But then I pause as I plunge into deeper thought, even amidst the fading cloud of the alcohol around my brain. Wait a minute... if Darius had indeed had nefarious purposes or intended to trick me into a wild marriage, he would have kissed me first, probably without my consent. Or at least taken advantage of me in my drunken state. I know he has always wanted to kiss me, and yet he did not. I made the first move, likely out of remembering that such was the traditional interaction, though not remembering exactly for what.

And here's the other thing: are we even really married at all? The traditions for one to become wed in District 12 are very specific, done in a certain order, and all steps have to be completed. Plus, not all rituals are necessarily observed across both Seam and Merchant classes.

I decide to find out. And I know exactly how.

I have never necessarily liked school, but Mother has always been insistent - the most she has ever been on anything - that her girls get a good education. Today, even though my mind is in turmoil and there are only a few days in the year left, school is a welcome distraction.

"As I mentioned yesterday, I thought we would end this year on a little fun! Now, I want you all to write a five-page essay on a District 12 tradition of your choice." my teacher tells us.

I waste no time in approaching her desk after class and offering to write about District 12 marriage law, the Toasting in particular. My teacher seems surprised by my choice (I do have a reputation of being a bit of a shrew, evidenced by my ignoring the leering eyes of my male classmates in the halls), but she allows me to pursue the topic. I leave the school building with my hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, and his girlfriend, Madge Undersee, by my side.

"I'm going to write about Parcel Day!" Gale tells me.

I smile wanly. Technically, Parcel Day _is_ a tradition, but it does not happen every year. Instead, it is contingent on one factor: whether or not District 12 produces a Victor in the Hunger Games. The last time Parcel Day occurred, Gale's and my parents were teenagers, when Haymitch Abernathy won... nearly a quarter-century ago. Before that, it had been double the time when Emmanuelle Southard triumphed. They say that in both cases, District 12 was showered with candies and spiced sugar cakes and many other confectionaries that would cost even Merchants a fortune.

"I'm going to write about the Reaping!" Madge offers up.

I really wish she wouldn't. She deals with the Reaping enough, being the Mayor's daughter and having to watch him officiate every year. We _all_ deal with the Reaping enough, and the pains it brings.

Gale and Madge indulge me for a moment as I quickly duck into the school library and check out a few books. I pick Primrose up in the front of the schoolyard, wave goodbye to my friends, and we proceed home. As soon as we arrive at our house in the Seam, I take a seat at the kitchen table, and sit down to research and write my report. Mother comes in, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Final paper, dear?"

"Mm-hmm," I reply, not looking up.

"What's the topic?"

"I'm writing about Twelve's marriage traditions," I state flatly.

I notice Mother's eyes twinkle in surprise and amusement from my periphery. "Interesting choice." Even my own _mother_ knows how opposed to romance I am! If I weren't so proud as a person, I should be ashamed. But my mother and I share very little in common; she knows and I know I am much more my father.

I work all through the afternoon and long into the night, even after Mother and Primrose have retired to bed. As I go through all the evidence that Darius and I are in fact _not_ technically married.

It is true that no one in Twelve feels truly married until after a Toasting. But that is because a much more legal procedure (at least in the eyes of the Capitol) has to be conducted first. A couple has to be married in a court of law - meaning the Justice Building, sign some documents attesting to such a union, and be assigned a house. Obviously, Darius and I did not do any of this. And this step has to always come first. The only exception, of course, has been my parents, who had to marry in secret by Toasting the bread initially and then, after the uproar had died down, get married in the eyes of the law.

The Toasting also usually requires at least one witness. And so does the legal wedding at the Justice Building. But Darius and I had no witnesses. All we did was toast a bit of bread and I sealed it with a kiss. Well, I take it back. Without following all of the procedures, in kissing Darius I didn't seal much of anything. Except for maybe the sharing of a meal. And people don't usually kiss each other after a meal, now do they?

Satisfied that my research has determined I am not a married woman, I finish writing my report. It is fun to do, actually, especially when I get to explore offshoots of information. Like how almost no Victors of the Hunger Games have married. Emmanuelle Southard and Haymitch Abernathy certainly haven't. I consider going up to Victors' Village to interview and add spice to my report, but decide against it. Haymitch is generally rude and anti-social, and poor Emmanuelle is old.

Now there is only one thing left to determine. Should I tell Darius that he accidentally performed a marriage ritual with me, even if it probably is not binding? In doing my research and cross-referencing it with that drunken night, I have come to belief that Darius was not aware of what he was doing. Or at least, not aware of the toasted bread's significance. Should I make him aware, embarrassing as it would be for me, and then chalk it up as nothing more than a teachable moment?

I go to bed unresolved.

* * *

School has only been over for a few days when Mother dresses me up in my blue Reaping dress. For the first time, she preens Prim as well, and then escorts us to the square in front of the Justice Building. Prim and I check in for the Reaping - my baby sister's first - and stand in our respective age groups. In the crowd, I spy Gale and Madge standing together in the 18-year-old's group.

The Mayor begins by reciting the Dark Days speech, and then introduces District 12's two Victors. Regarding Emmanuelle and Haymitch, it is better to be brief, as they represent the worst Victory record of all the districts and both are in various forms and degrees of patheticness.

Effie Trinket, our escort from the Capitol then selects the one young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games. "Ciara Van Pelt!"

A Merchant girl of 18 takes the stage. At least Prim was not chosen. Then -

"Peeta Mellark!"

Peeta Mellark! My heart actually sinks. Not him! For I owe the 16-year-old youngest son of the Baker something of a life debt. He gave me bread when my family and I were starving. I never got to thank him. And now I never will.

Or so I initially think. It takes most of my courage to break away from Mother and Prim on our way home and run for the Justice Building. I hide, flustered, in the bathrooms until the line to see Peeta has dwindled. And then I march right in before I lose my nerve.

He is surprised to see me, to say the least, his blue eyes - bluer than even Darius's - widening at my presence. "Katniss? What are you doing here?"

I am shocked that he even knows my name. Flattered, even, in my own way. And this moves me to force out from my gullet, constricted by both terror and shame:

"Thank you!" I nearly shout the words in my effort to utter them. "For the bread. I... thank you."

The gratefulness does not seem to equal the kindness he showed me, never mind that it's long overdue. And as a young Seam woman, I appreciate more than most how a trade has to be fair. But how else can I repay Peeta? What more can I give him?

I get one crazy idea. And it has barely formed in my head before I have reached Peeta in one stride, pulled his neck down to me and kissed him full on the mouth.

It is only the second time I have kissed someone out of the blue - nay, at all - so despite my clear inexperience, I do my best to sell it, closing my eyes and slipping my tongue in his mouth and moaning as if I enjoy how he is now encircling me, kissing me back. And in a small measure, I do enjoy it.

"Thank you!" I gasp as we break apart. "I needed to give you something at least equal to what you gave me, so..." Flustered, I grab him and kiss him soundly again. God, what is _wrong_ with me? "Thank you."

Peeta looks flabbergasted and elated all at once. He even looks like he wants to kiss me himself, good and proper. Well, he's going to die. I might as well extend him the courtesy. "Go ahead. Kiss me."

He does, pulling me into his arms and kissing me oh so sweetly. I let him hold me and the kiss for a moment before I step out of the embrace. Deeply flushed, I run from the room before the Peacekeepers can even collect me...

...Right into Darius, who wasn't on guard when I was let in.

"Katniss?"

"We accidentally performed a marriage ceremony. That night I visited you," the words are out of me in a ramble before I can stop them. "But it doesn't mean anything."

And before a speechless Darius can reply, I do what I do best.

I run.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Over the course of that entire next year, I see Darius intermittently around Town, the Hob, outside the Barracks. When I encounter him while trading, he still jokes for a kiss in exchange for game, probably for old time's sake. But now the joke seems forced. Indeed, the easy-going Peacekeeper seems decidedly less at ease around me. More formal. When he addresses me once as Miss Everdeen, I jump about a foot in the air and even erroneously look around for my mother.

More than this, Darius seems to be seen less and less just hanging around the district and more and more on patrol. Others in the Seam notice this change too, and whispers fly about how Darius has been taking on extra postings around Victors' Village and even the mines - largely thankless guard duties. He even volunteers for stations at night.

"I think he's looking to get promoted, maybe even take Cray's job," Thom theorizes one day at Greasy Sae's stall.

Sae nods as she pours him and me a bowl of her stew. "Could be. If you ask me, I think he's saving up for something."

It's an interesting hypothesis. Contrary to popular belief, Peacekeepers are not much better off than the rest of us, particularly the cadets. If the Seam folk are dirt poor and even the Merchants are working class, Peacekeepers are still only middle class.

I lean forward, intrigued. "What sort of something?"

"Let's wait and see," Sae gives me a toothy grin.

Winter melts into spring, ensuring that an already miserable year continues apace. Gloom has gripped District 12 since the previous summer, as losing Peeta Mellark to a heartbreaking third place finish still stings deeply. He fell to Thresh, the boy from 11, and Cato, the boy from 2, the latter of whom became Victor. No tears were shed for Ciera, Peeta's District partner, who was one of the first to die in the Bloodbath. For their son's strong showing, the Mellarks are presented with a bronze medal, as is custom. And at the tributes' funerals, the Baker pulls me aside and tells me that Peeta was in love with me since we were small children. This stunning declaration makes me guilty that he never said anything, while at the same time making me regret less the stolen, hurried, impulsive kisses we shared after the Reaping.

* * *

In March of the following year, the special twist for the 75th Hunger Games, or Third Quarter Quell, is announced. Previous Victors will be sent into the arena once more. District 12 will be showered with embarrassment, as we barely have a male and a female Victor to fulfill the twist. But also notoriety will be directed our way, as the last Quell had our own Haymitch Abernathy win the Crown.

The day of the Reaping dawns hot and sultry. Spying Gale and Madge, both free of the Reaping and happily married, clutch to each other makes me glad they are safe. And my sister, too, for her second eligible year. But that relief soon turns to pity as I watch Emmanuelle Southard and Haymitch Abernathy transported to the stage under heavy guard. Both guaranteed for the arena.

The Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games, Emmanuelle Southard was a girl of seventeen from the Seam who won by spending weeks hiding and making bombs out of materials not unlike those used in Twelve's mines. She killed a few tributes individually before saving her real firepower for a Feast where there were only four tributes left. Her unorthodox Victory promoted changes in mining age employment in Twelve, and her Games have never been re-aired. Both decisions have since left our tributes at a distinct disadvantage. Now 90 years old, she is the oldest Victor still alive and needs the assistance of a motorized chair, and then a cane, to reach the stage and stand up with dignity.

Haymitch Abernathy won the 50th Hunger Games at sixteen, when the Quell twist was double the normal number of tributes. He is rumored to have killed multiple Career tributes personally, including his last opponent. He even apparently used the arena itself as a weapon. However, his Games have also never been re-aired. An impressive Victory, regardless, if true. But since then, he has devolved into a middle-aged drunk, largely useless.

My neighbors feel the mockery deeply. "Poor Emmanuelle. She's never hurt anyone in years, since she won."

"Snow has gone mad," a Seam miner mutters darkly.

They are both going to die. Emmanuelle almost immediately - she is far too old to run, and would a motorized chair even be allowed in the arena? Watching her wheel through a wilderness would look painfully, tragically, cruelly comical. As the winner of the last Quell, Haymitch might have it in him... but, no. He is too drunk. And even if he tried to withdraw from the stuff, likely watching that process on TV would be painful.

I watch sadly as our two washed-up heroes are led away to their deaths, almost certainly never to return.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

And neither of them do return. Emmanuelle's motorized chair is useless from a pedestal surrounded by water. She bravely and serenely rolls the chair off and into the water before the gong rings out, drowning herself and blowing several Victors near her in the process. Haymitch puts up a fight, barely making the Final Eight before he falls to Daniel Bernhardt, a male Victor from District 9. A peer of Haymitch, Brutus Gunn of District 2, actually wins the whole thing; he apparently volunteered for Cato, the previous year's champion, eagerly.

The following year is my last Reaping at 18 years of age. The odds are not in my favor, and I am Reaped for the 76th Hunger Games, now with no mentor to help me. Gale and Madge, Mother and Prim bid me tearful goodbyes. But my sorrow quickly turns to nervous awkwardness and embarrassment when I realize that Darius will be guarding me and accompanying me and my district partner to the Capitol.

We have been acting strange around each other for the better part of two years now. By now, I feel terrible for the way I treated him and deeply regret that I ever tried going to Cray's that night. The night I ended up spending with Darius, drinking away my sorrows like an idiot.

Throughout our wait in the Capitol, neither of us speak to each other. Even if I feel I need to, if for no other reason than to clear the air between us before I likely die. Darius sees us tributes off on the hovercraft. I can only nod to him in farewell, like the coward I am. He looks like he wants to embrace me, and I almost tell him to kiss me and get it over with. If it would make him feel better. But he doesn't.

* * *

I become the Victor of the 76th Hunger Games, becoming Emmanuelle and Haymitch's heir and reclaiming the mantle of hero for my people.

Panem descends into chaos after my win. Even as I give my final interview and am prepped to go home, bombs fall on District 12, taking many lives.

On the train ride home, I am accompanied by Darius alone. Visiting me in my quarters one night, I gasp in shock as she suddenly pulls out a ring. An engagement ring.

"I've been saving up for this for the better part of two years," he explains. "Katniss Everdeen, I love you. Will you marry me... again?"

I give an awkward laugh at the inside joke, even as I splutter like a fish. So Greasy Sae's theory was right. But even she had no idea just what Darius was saving up for.

"Why... why didn't you ask me... before the Games? You might not have seen me again."

Darius smiles. I love his smile. "I was hedging my bets. I had a feeling you were going to win."

I think his proposal over for a long moment. I'm a Victor now, and Victors usually don't marry. But even so... our accidental Toasting may not have meant anything to me, but it may have meant _something_ to him.

So I slip the ring on my finger.

* * *

I debate whether to wear my blue Reaping dress to get married, or something else. Mother owns a wedding dress, but I don't have access to it at the moment. I decide to pull the whitest thing I can find from the train's wardrobe - a white blouse and white tights.

Darius Toasts a piece of bread over the fire, and we marry in my chambers on the train as it still races back to District 12. As I gaze into Darius's eyes and as he holds me gently, my gaze softens. When he kisses me, its power leaves me breathless and I gasp so that his tongue slips down my throat. It is a kiss of apology, a kiss of promise, and a kiss full of deep, deep love. Even so, I kiss this man who is hereafter my husband from the moment our lips joined... tentatively. I kiss him with a part of me still hesitant. I am wary, fearful, as I enter this marriage. But in a scary new world of likely war and possibly revolution, it would be nice to have a partner.

District 12 is eerily deserted when we return. My home in the Seam is still standing, but abandoned and empty. I don't know what happened to Primrose or Mother, and sadly have to presume them dead until proven otherwise. Ever practical, I don my mother's wedding dress, and Darius and I break into the Justice Building. We steal and sign some marriage documents, sealing it with a kiss. Then back at my house, we hold another Toasting and seal it with another kiss, just to be sure.

My husband and I live through the war in our decimated district. After Snow's regime is overthrown and a democracy is installed, some of our neighbors return and begin to rebuild. My family are not among them, and neither are Gale and Madge.

It takes me five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree to have children. But Darius wants them so badly. I lie with him and make love to him until I fall pregnant. We welcome a daughter. Carrying our son was easier, but not by much.

The Games are abolished, and as my husband and children and I play in the Meadow, I appreciate that there are much worse Games to play.


End file.
